Deliverance

Sequined eyes The fields ablaze Every breath, a gasp The stinging fumes permeate. Where the oxen plough and hand endeavor Waters run dry Empty troughs expire. We are not perfection But redemption. Evergreens brown! The earth creaks beneath our toils Each movement engulfing seed and root. Efforts in vain? We are not makers But masters Sequined eyes no more they see. Fresh tears stain the cheeks. All that has passed is gone and away Saplings and shoots break the surface. Greener still the crop be nurtured By what maker is this perfection Seen to pass? For It is not I For it is not us